I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to do something and told Brad so. He understood and suggested that he and I fly to Poza Rica. Perhaps we could help, perhaps not ... but it was better than staying here. So, he and I met at the municipal airport the next morning and the same private plane that had whisked Rose away carried the two of us over the Gulf of Mexico.
Brad had arranged for a car to be waiting for us and we were soon driving southwest to Oaxaca. We met the investigator at the hotel bar. Even though the bar boasted of air conditioning, it was sweltering in there and the slow ceiling fans did little to relieve the misery.
Yes, he had been to the school, but the headmaster of the school was adamant that no one there had seen Mr. Knight, much less picked him and a lady up over a week ago. The private investigator didn't know what else he could do. He had run up against a brick wall and no one would talk to him. He had offered cigarettes, money, anything he could think of, but no one would talk to him.
I thanked Brad and the investigator for all they had done and begged off for the evening. I needed time to think so I took a walk around the plaza. The streets were quiet and dark and I was grateful. I didn't need the distractions of sound and people to add to the commotion flying around in me. I'm not sure how long I walked. I purposely tried not to think, feeling that if I cleared my mind a solution would finally float to the top of my consciousness and it finally did.
I returned to the hotel and went straight to Brad's room. I knocked and was soon facing him, "Brad, I've got to stay. I'm sure that someone, somewhere, some time will have to show up in town for groceries or supplies and perhaps I can find out where Kellen and Rose are holed up. I just can't go back to New Orleans without Rose. I'm staying until I find her."
Brad understood and felt obligated to stay, as well. We sat long into the night talking and trying to develop some sort of plan. We finally agreed that I would take a room at the hotel which faced the cantina as well as several small shops. Brad would move from the hotel into a vacant little adobe casa across from the pharmacy and the little town's version of a mercantile. Then we would wait ... we would wait and watch ... and for the first time in my life, I prayed.
For three days I did not leave the chair by the window in my room. The dusty, sleepy current of humanity offered no indication of anything but their ordinary routines. On the fourth day my telephone rang, 'Jackson, it's Brad. Just a few minutes ago a dark blue sedan pulled in front of the pharmacy. The driver was only in the pharmacy for a few minutes then returned to the car with several packages.
Kellen is a diabetic and perhaps that is what the driver picked up ... anyway, he's headed down the street toward you. Keep an eye out and see if you can pick him up.'
Just as I hung up the phone, the sedan pulled in front of the cantina, the driver parked the car and sauntered inside. I hurriedly pulled on a pair of khaki shorts, a loud shirt, and sat a straw hat on my head. I slipped on a pair of hurraches and hurried down the stairs and across the street to the cantina.
I sat at table next to the man I recognized as the driver and ordered a beer. After sipping on it for a few minutes I caught the driver's eye, "Do you speak English?" I asked. He responded, 'A little, Senor ...'. Without being asked I got up and went over to his table and sat down.
I stuck out my hand and said, "Hey! I'm Bill ... I gotta tell you, the travel agent really pulled a fast one on me! I was sold a bill of goods about "explore the real Mexico" and I'm stuck here for a week! This is just not what I had in mind, you know? I expected a night life, pretty girls, and stuff to do and see ... instead here I am, trying to find someone who can speak English and keep me from dying of boredom. Bartender ... two more beers for me and my new amigo!"
I could tell by the look in his eye that he didn't want to be my friend or probably anyone else's either ... but he was getting a free beer, so he sat. I continued without hardly taking a breath, "What do you folks do around here for fun? Is there ever any excitement?"
He sipped his beer and shook his head, 'No Senor, we live quiet lives here ... if you wanted excitement you should have gone to Cancun or Acapulco.'
I laughed, "Boy, don't I know that now!" and motioned for the bartender to bring us two more beers although I hadn't even touched mine and he had only drunk about half of his, "Man ... at least are there any Americans around here? It would be nice to maybe talk to them and find out what they like to do around here."
"He finished his second beer with one long drink and then reached for the third one I had ordered, 'Senor, there is no one in this area you would care to speak with ... none who could help a tourist ... you would be better pleased to catch the next bus for Mexico City and finish your holiday there ...'
"Well, maybe you're right ... when does the next bus leave for Mexico City, do you know? But, you know what, I haven't had any tequila since I've been here ... why don't we try a couple" as I motioned for the bartender to come over, "Bring us a bottle of tequila and lime slices ..."
As I looked back at the driver, he had begun to relax in his seat and I repeated the question about the bus. 'The bus travels twice a week between here and Mexico City ... the next one leaves tomorrow.'
"What a relief ... I'll still have three days left on my vacation to enjoy ...but this afternoon, well enjoy the tequila!"
After sharing a few shots, we walked out of the cantina together laughing like old college buddies, "Well, my friend, where are you off to now?" I asked as I slung my arm over his shoulder and patted his chest.
I wanted him to think I was a lot further gone that I was. 'Errands, stupid errands for my boss ... look around you ... do you see flowers growing here? No! This rocky dirt cannot grow flowers ... it can hardly grow cactus ... yet this stupid man sends me to pick up rose bushes, rose bushes, so I go to the bus station now. They have come in and he is anxious to get them into the ground.'
My heart skipped a beat and sweat beads popped out on my forehead. I hoped he didn't notice ... or if he did I hoped he would think it was a consequence of the tequila and beer ... "Bus station? Do you think you could give me a ride overthere and I could buy my ticket for Mexico City ... in return, I'll help you load up those bushes ..."
After my generously plying him with free drinks for most of the afternoon, he was more than willing to accept my offer to help, so I climbed into the front seat and within a few short minutes we were at the bus station. When we entered, I spotted the rose buses stacked in a corner, "Hey, look, there they are. Let's get them into your car, then you can be on your way, I'll just walk back to my hotel after I get my ticket."
It was no problem steering him toward the corner, "Que! Look at this," he pointed, "no leaves, all wrapped in burlap, what do they think?"
